To Turn Back the Clock
by D' the estrange
Summary: Mukuro wasn’t quite sure when the dreams began, in his early childhood he supposed, he dreamt of an ancient war full of the blood of both ninjas and demons alike or something like that.


**_To Turn Back the Clock_**

**Life: Rulling the world is on my to do list, owning KHR and Naruto is on par of being number 2. So, I pretty much don't own anything but this plot bunny. **

***Pets plot bunny***

***Plot bunny growls and than bites Life's hand***

**Life: OUCH!!**

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_Dreams._

Mukuro wasn't quite sure when the dreams began, in his early childhood he supposed, he dreamt of an ancient war full of the blood of both ninjas and demons alike or something like that.

When he would lull himself to sleep, Mukuro could hear the sound of something ticking.

_Tick. Tick._

A clock…?

The voices of people, some whispering, others yelling a different language that seemed vaguely familiar, heavy accents that spoke of every syllable at ease—at times in anguish or wrath.

In the dreams, Mukuro would often stare at his own palms_—_scraped, cuts healed in an unnatural quick pace, always small and bony with his skin that of a dark tone so unlike his pale complexion.

Frail hands that belonged to someone else—_a child's hands._

Through the eyes of another, usually staring up from the ground, first he would see red pooling around him from a distance as though he was now in the air floating, watching in a daze. People would surround the small and broken body, overpower him and mock him with eyes full of unspeakable rage. Then, something glinted in the light of the ray of sun, held high in one's hands. Just as the silhouette form of the person drew down the shimmering glass had Mukuro snapped from his gaze and found that he was in his bedroom where he had fallen asleep. 'Til later did Mukuro realize that the child in the dream had been stabbed by the broken neck of a bottle,

_Dreams—no, better identified as nightmares._

Often, Mukuro would wake in the middle of the night, covered in cold sweat and panting. Every time he awoken he had the urge to maim, the urge to shed the same amount of innocent blood, Mukuro wanted to kill those bastards. That's when a man named Lanchia had come of use.

So simple to use, making that simpleton turn against his family, the same family that took Mukuro in. They were all puppets, broken toys for his own amusement to play with until he grew bored of them and cast them aside.

But, inside Mukuro new this was wrong, something inside—his conscience, his heart would gain a small spider webbed crack each time he indirectly took a life, each time he would laugh at others sorrows. Like many other things, Mukuro cast aside his conscience and dyed his heart in black before incasing it in ice much like the Zero Point Breakthrough.

_Promises and bonds._

Later on as Mukuro continued on in his unknown anger, his dreams would change every single time till it only confused him to no extent.

Some were simple dreams—

He would be lying on a bed in a familiar bedroom; he would lie on his side and stare at a photograph placed inside a picture frame.

Four silhouettes stood in the shot of the photo, he could make out two boys and a girl with a tall man leaned shadowing over them.

And others…well they felt too real to be a simple nightmare—

Blood.

He could smell it in the air, sniff it out like a bloodhound, he could even taste it in his mouth.

"_NOOO!! Mizuki don't—_"

"_YOU ARE THE NINE-TAILED FOX!"_

Something would flicker in the air, a wave of power the color of blue streaming in the air in a circular form. Sometimes, the blue was a startling red, like the color of blood. Mukuro came to know of this strange "wave" as chakra, the source that all beings had no matter how small or how powerful it may have been. It was later labeled as a dying will flame.

Mukuro knew he was insane, and if he wasn't he was well on his way to cross the borders between the sanity of mind and blissful disorderliness of what was known as insanity.

Nothing mattered to Mukuro but the total destruction of the world, to put others that took their lives' so lightly into an unimaginable suffering.

_To break every bone in his body…no matter what he would keep his promise…_

But that all soon changed once he fought one-one-one between him and Sawada Tsunayoshi, the Tenth Generation of the Vongola Familial.

Everything, it all came crumbling down like an earthquake had suddenly erupted on an unprepared civilization and destroying everything. Those eyes, so unlike his mismatched ones. Eyes of a burning orange and flaming red, revealing that of emotions Mukuro had long since forgotten: Love, compassion, and determination. These eyes of the boy Mukuro had struggled to posses; they belonged to those of a friend and hero alike. They were familiar; he remembered…he once had eyes like those.

"It's over."

After failing his plan and lying inside a miniature crater created by the force of the boy's strength shoving him down in midair and into the floorboards, Mukuro lay half unconscious.

"This is nothing, compared to the suffering we endured back then."

Ken? Was that Ken's voice he vaguely heard? Idiot, don't strain your body too much!

"Day after day of cruel experimentation, we had no way of escape. But he… that boy—Mukuro-sama—he destroyed our current existence all by himself!"

What are you talking about…? Mukuro wondered to himself. You don't need to remember those days!

"_Are you done wallowing in self-hatred yet?"_

Mukuro slowly, almost unwillingly, opened his eyes only to stare up at sky blue ones. The man that owned those blue eyes stood shadowing over Mukuro, his hands settled on his hips as his eyes glared down at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

"_Is this how we turned out…? We're like a copy of Sasuke-teme!"_

It was yet another dream, that's what Mukuro told himself once he had awoken in a cellar, he had arrived in Vendicare. But it felt more than that, so much more….

…_Turn back the clock, start over…_

A voice whispered in Mukuro's head, it was somewhat raspy yet kind.

…_Time to start the clock once more…_

_----_

"Being by yourself seems lonely. I'll take you on anytime," Said Reborn, an acrobaleno.

Through possessing a boy, Mukuro held the hand of a woman tighter. He wondered if this is what it felt like holding your own mother's hand. Pausing from his bubbly chattering with the boy's—the one he had possessed—mother and stopped to slowly turn around to gaze at the baby and the Tenth Vongola generation's family, he missed being wanted and being need.

"One day," He whispered. His right eye that held the kanji number of six seemed to glow mysteriously before turning to smile up at the woman.

"Come on Okaasan, Oniichan is waiting for us!" Casting one last look at the teenagers that smiled and tried to calm a crying baby in a cow-print outfit, the innocent smile on Sawada's face made a feeling of dread tighten in his chest. He could have taken that away with all the others…

Maybe next time it would be different. Mukuro smirked at that thought, he still had yet to given up on possessing Sawada Tsunayoshi's body and he doubt this was the last he would see of the boy and his Family.

In his dreams, Mukuro had golden blonde hair that spiked up like Sawada's and tanned skin like the swordsman of the boy's group.

Held eyes like Tsunayoshi's except they were that of blue.

Even if he was a whiner, Tsuna was similar in ways to Mukuro's past self.

Perhaps that's why he wished to posses the boy, not for the power he held but for the fragment of Mukuro's self. Maybe, just maybe, he would someday be the man he once was…

As Uzumaki Naruto and not as Rokudo Mukuro.

But Mukuro supposed that would take quite a while to achieve such a goal, he may have been a loyal and kind man once but he is what he is now and nothing can ever change that, this is the path he has chosen after all.

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**Life: Suckish story? Yes. Horrible Ending? Correct. Murder Authoress? *Runs***

**R&R!! ^_^**


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